


put my foot in a place it's not supposed to be

by Code16



Series: and enter [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abuse, Casual rape, Half-Sibling Incest, Large Insertion, M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Ongoing relationship, Porn, Punishment, Sex Toys, Tumblr Prompt, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 14:55:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16
Summary: "“See, I told you it would fit. It took some hard work, but I sure did make it fit like I promised.” Feanor sounds pleased with himself; not, of course, an uncommon event, for Feanor."





	put my foot in a place it's not supposed to be

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt,
>
>> “From the prompt thing: “See, I told you it would fit. It took some hard work, but I sure did make it fit like I promised.” Maedhros or Feanor and Fingolfin”
> 
> Prompt originally from [this prompt list](https://tyelp-with-a-spear.tumblr.com/post/185905389689/nsfw-starters-rough).
> 
> -The ongoing relationship here is basically 'Feanor uses Nolo as a sex toy whenever he feels like it'. (I was kind of unsure how to tag for that kind of thing? It's not actually quite sex slavery...)
> 
> -See end tags for a piece of content information that may be a spoiler?
> 
> -The arrows denote beginning and ending a flashback. I've been trying to figure out how clear that is and how to make it more clear (and welcome feedback!)

“See, I told you it would fit. It took some hard work, but I sure did make it fit like I promised.” Feanor sounds pleased with himself; not, of course, an uncommon event, for Feanor.

 _I never doubted you_ . It drifts across Nolofinwe’s mind - though not, likewise of course, his tongue. (Even if he’d thought it wise, he’s not sure he could speak right now. He feels _breathless_ , air somehow pressed out of him, even though there isn’t really a way Feanor’s toy has gotten anywhere near his lungs. However it might feel like that.)

It is _true_. Feanor would point out that he’d said otherwise, but he’s not sure Feanor understands the concept of being so flustered one blurts things out, or in general of saying things for reasons other than their explicit meaning.

➞➞➞ 

_“Nothing to say? No comment on our illustrious crown prince?”_

He’d been uncomfortable with the conversation some time before that point. Has found it difficult, to know how to respond. He could respond severely, shut it down - but he thinks that would only serve to further general suppression of such talk. And he doesn’t actually _want_ no one to dare speak their thoughts of Feanaro, should those thoughts be less than flattering to him. Only wants it better perceived that he is not an interlocutor to seek out, to share in them.

The other man scoffed at him. 

“I bet not. Bet your brother’d put his foot up your ass, if he saw you associating with the likes of me.”

He’d blushed, at loss for words in another way entirely. It isn’t that he thinks no one _knows_ , that detail of his brother’s acknowledged primacy, of what his brother - wants. But it isn’t usually - not _mentioned_ , at least not in his hearing. At least not _to_ him.

“I - hardly think that would fit,” he’d stammered out and - honestly if he’d been less flustered he probably would have been more _observant_ -

“What do you not think would fit?” and of course it was Feanor, striding around the corner toward them, hands in his pockets for all the world like he is out for a stroll in the garden.

“Your highness,” Nolofinwe bows - it’s reflexive, fortunately, will see no interference from the voice in his head calling himself a careless idiot. The other man is a second behind him. Also fortunately, probably. 

“Yes, yes, I’m your highness.” Careless, as though he _wouldn’t_ have been further furious, had they forgotten it. “Well?” Now it’s the other man looking half at the ground. At least he isn’t trying to stare Feanaro down.

“Your foot. Up his ass.   
Your highness.” 

Eru damn it, he can feel Feanor looking at him. “Really? Would you like to bet on that?”

“No. Your highness.”

“I didn’t think so.  
"Do you know what else I think? I think you‘re more clever than you look, and you do remember the laws of our bountiful land. Perhaps even one about slander to the royal family. And, perhaps if you’re _very_ clever, even the law my father added after the last ‘council of the Valar’, as regards the penalty for slander to the crown prince.” (In reconsideration, there is in fact at least one other form of communication Feanaro understands.) “Do you think you remember that.”

“Yes. Your highness.”

“And that would be?”

“Discretion of the crown prince. Your highness.” 

“Marvelous. Now usually I hardly see the need for more than the usual stocks and flogging. But perhaps it’s time I ordered a beheading or a few. Communicate better.” The other man blanches. Tries to stammer something out. Feanaro lets him struggle for a few moments.

“But no, it would hardly be fair of me to repay mere words with an axe. And a prince should be fair, should he not?” Another moment of speechlessness, if a different one. “Go find the executor on duty, tell him the crown prince said to give you three lashes.   
Nolofinwe?” The bow and ‘highness?’ continues fortunately reflexive. “My bedroom, 15 minutes.”

And he departs, strolling away again, not even waiting to see if he will be obeyed.

(Of course he will be).

He is early, because he shouldn’t be late, which means he has a few minutes where he can not do much else but wonder if Feanor really plans - (he is aware, by now, that _fisting_ is an activity known and practiced, but-)

But Feanor, when he arrives, rifles in a drawer rather than pulling his boots off. Emerges with what must be one of the toys whose craftsmanship he takes such pride it, though not one Nolofinwe has seen before. 

“What do you think, about the size of my foot?” 

”I - doubt your sense of measurement would deceive you.” It is not false, and far likelier to be accurate than any attempt he might make at a memory of the size of Feanor’s feet. He’s having trouble taking his eyes off it, even enough to look at Feanor. Can still catch the eyebrow raise.

“Don’t believe it’ll fit? It will. I promise.” That was - not exactly his concern, not that he thinks Feanor thinks it was. Feanor, meanwhile, has returned to his drawer, business-like.

“Face down, naked. If you want to be tied down you know where the straps are.”

Feanor obligingly fastens his remaining wrist into place before sitting down on the bed beside him. Strokes his ass, light enough that Nolofinwe arcs a little. “Now. I don’t think I need to tell you that this will go easier if you relax.”

←←←

“Anything to say?” From the sound of it Feanor pulls up a chair then sits down in it, legs out to rest his feet on Nolofinwe’s thighs. Casually moves a foot to nudge against the base of the toy (Nolofinwe has to bite his lip.)

“I said nothing disloyal to you. I swear.”

“Oh I know.” Feanor adjusts his position, but seemingly just making himself more comfortable. “Or you’d be having this conversation with a much sorer ass.” He nudges the toy again, harder. Nolofinwe can’t help a slight jump, which only cascades upon itself. From past experience he can imagine well enough Feanor watching him with amusement. 

“I don’t warrant threats of execution?” he says, when he’s in a position to speak again. (It’s - daring. But if he wishes to this is perhaps the best time to dare.)

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“I do. They don’t.” Another nudge, lighter even than the first.

“It would hardly be fun if they did.”

“It’s cruel.” Perhaps he should not have said it that directly. 

“Is it.” Feanor’s tone has shifted with the word. That, he does not respond to. There is silence, moments long enough that he begins to worry. But it is broken only by a light laugh, Feanor stretching slightly. “Ah, Nolofinwe. Always disapproving of my fun. 

Be quiet, now. I had a chapter in mind to make my way through, and I quite like the sight of you like that, and won’t have either disrupted before I’ve finished.”

He is quiet. He can hear Feanor’s book when he takes it up, later the sound of the pages turning. (Not an overly difficult piece, he can gather, from the speed of them, but not overly simple either). Occasionally another nudge will make him jump or press his face into the sheet, but mostly he is permitted to lie there, guessing at how much of Feanor’s attention might be trained on him at any moment of it, if his sense of those eyes on him can be trusted at all.

He isn’t actually good at telling time like this. Is not therefore sure how long it is before Feanor closes his book and gets up. Moves the toy with what is probably his hand this time. Puts a hand on Nolofinwe’s ass as he tenses without meaning to.

“Someday I’ll fuck you with this. But I think we’ll work up to that.   
"For now,” He goes to his cabinet again, then moves so that both he and the strap he holds are in Nolofinwe’s field of vision. “Seven before I take it out, three after. Or thirteen after. I’ll let you choose, for your loyalty. Before you show me you do remember any productive use for your mouth.”

“Seven and three.” He isn’t anticipating seven-before being worth the difference. But it’s obvious what Feanaro wants. And either one is more merciful than a true whip, and they both know it.

“As you wish.” Another reason, in retrospect, to have chosen to be tied down. He grips the restraints to his wrists. 

Feanaro has excellent aim. The lashes land just close enough to the plug to feel their vibrations through it, or else precisely where he is most sensitive, to make him jump and clench. He’s breathing hard and pressing his face into the sheet again by the time the seven are completed. 

Feanor sits down beside him, caresses the reddened skin. Puts his hand on the end of the plug. 

“Ready?” _Is it possible to be_ , he doesn’t say, before he is yet again in no position to be speaking.

He’s feeling limp and wrung out by the time Feanor rises (presumably with the toy, for wherever he plans to put it for now). Not to any extreme level - he’s been there enough to know the difference, certainly. But been there enough likewise to recognize the feeling. Feanor adjusts the bonds on his ankles, then walks around him once more, takes him by the hair to drag him far enough forward. He opens his mouth as Feanor pulls himself out, takes Feanor’s tip into his mouth when it’s presented to him. 

“I think I said, show me what good your mouth is,” Feanor observes, once he’s thrust in. Nolofinwe does; attempts ministrations between and around Feanor’s thrusts. “Swallow and clean me off, or we’ll see how well I can use your hair for it.” Nolofinwe blushes; wonders if Feanor can feel it in the heat around him. Obeys.

The last three lashes are issued quickly, though with no less exactness for it. Feanor returns to him again after, fingers tracing the marks, circling the loosened hole. 

“Now what good your ass is, that’s not in question.  
"Seems a shame to leave you so unused. But alas, I find myself not in the mood.” He seems considering for a moment. “Ah!” Walking away, returning - Nolofinwe feels something pushed into him again (not so large, this time). Then Feanor fastening straps around his thighs and waist, presumably keeping it in place. 

“There, that should do. You may remove it before you sleep, assuming you do so at your accustomed hour. If I hear that you’ve been staying in your rooms overmuch before then, or standing overmuch when anyone knows you would sit, you will regret it dearly.” He says it with the half-smile in his voice, which does not, of course, make it at all less of a true threat. Hands move to begin undoing the restraints that hold him down. “Well, up you get, I do have other plans today.” He gets up. Dresses while Feanor settles to read again. Pauses before attempting to move towards the door 

“I am due five strokes each night this week,” he says, not in any way because he thinks Feanor might have forgotten. Feanor looks up.

“So you are. Considerate of you to remind me.   
You may have one hour to stand when you might sit, and not draw my wrath.” It is, in fact, somewhat questionable to what extent that is better. He nods, changes it to a shallower bow.

“Be here at your appointed time then. Perhaps I will find myself in the mood for your lovely ass after all.” Nod. He pauses another moment, in case Feanor happens to think of something else. Or already had it in mind. 

Feanor is is returning to his book. “Well? Get out.” That settles it. He crosses to the door, trying to use the time to adjust enough to be more ready for once he is outside it. 

Feanor reads; Feanor’s eyes may or may not follow him to the door.

**Author's Note:**

> -Title is a Captain Marvel quote. There is no relation between the piece and Captain Marvel, it just seemed that the title should be that kind of - idiom - and once I looked that one up the additional parallel to 'put your foot in your *mouth*' was too much to resist.
> 
> -Content information that may be a spoiler: this fic does not actually involve inserting feet anywhere.
> 
> -I'm not sure how clear this is from content (and welcome feedback!) but the context here is meant to be something like 'Finwe responded to things like 'people suggesting Feanor is part of the Marring of Arda or something' by going very 'Feanor is the crown prince and everyone better treat him accordingly' and wanting this to be in force as strongly as possible. This amounts to Feanor basically being able to do whatever he wants, which he does.'
> 
> [My tumblr for these kinds of things](https://findundergrounddragoutofwater.tumblr.com). I love fandom social things, and anyone who feels like they might want to message etc me for any reason is encouraged to totally do so.


End file.
